


Milk, Turpentine, and Honey

by Anonymous



Category: DCU (Comics), Wonder Woman (Comics), Wonder Woman - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Magical Bondage, Pseudo-Incest, Rope Bondage, Spanking, Watersports, brat taming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:00:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25325770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “Is this your plan, sister mine, daughter of my daughters?” Ares spat acidly. “To humiliate me? You believe you can tame War, Diana? Are you really so prideful as to stand against so primal a force?”Defeating Ares in battle is not the end, Diana must also take responsibility for taming the wayward god before returning him to Olympus bound in the Lasso of Truth.
Relationships: Ares/Diana (Wonder Woman)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 20
Collections: DC Kink Meme





	Milk, Turpentine, and Honey

Diana finished the last knot on Ares before pausing to admire her own handiwork. The god’s axe was strewn across the desert and his helm lay knocked off his head. Diana had found him in Bialya, spreading whispers of dissent and, when that failed him as it often did, getting his hands dirty. Sometimes it had indeed been his bare hands doing the killing. Diana knew his bloodlust and his desire for destruction and pain, but she always caught up to him. Always. Their battle had lasted forty-eight hours- or had it been more? Diana had triumphed because her brother/grandfather always discounted Diana’s greatest strengths of love and loyalty as her weaknesses. Perhaps they were his, as she had sent him trembling to his knees by invoking Aphrodite’s name. 

The god was face down in the blaringly hot sand. The Lasso of Truth, Gift of Hestia, burned away Ares’s most recent glamour of the blond-haired and blue-eyed mercenary. He had seemed to think that by using this form no one would have found him. His more natural glamour of blueblack armor and cape took longer to burn away but soon the god was left without anything to shield him. He lay naked as the day Hera pushed him out, black hair glinting in the sun. Without his glamour he was pale and charming to look at; a young man with a lean body and his face having inherited his mother’s beauty. His eyes burned red in the desert sun. 

Diana had hogtied him so she could keep a close eye on all of his limbs. The Lasso held despite his thrashing, as she knew it would. Without his glamors he could feel heat and pain, though it did not bother him as it would a mortal. Still, the sand against his godhood would not be comfortable and Diana could see just the way he strained against the Lasso’s hold.

“Is this your plan, sister mine, daughter of my daughters?” Ares spat acidicly. “To humiliate me? You believe you can tame War, Diana? Are you really so prideful as to stand against so primal a force?”

Diana squatted down beside him, leading heavily on her sword. Her hair was bedraggled and face streaked with sweat and blood. She was unsure if it was Ares’s or her own. She was weary, weary of war and the never ending struggle of the gods. She was weary of battle after battle, especially when she knew her consort, her Steven, was waiting patiently at home and in her bed for her return. She was a woman of duty, however, and as much as she longed for her human lover’s embrace, her duty with Ares was not yet over. She tilted her head to one side. He looked sad and angry, more like a boy than a man or god like this. “When have you last enjoyed war, Ares?” she asked, letting the Lasso take the brunt of the work.

Gods are stories, whether they are willing to believe or admit it or not. Gods are made of stories and the lies we tell to children. As a result, the Lasso could not work on a god, or any other being of myth, the way it would a mortal. The Lasso cannot force a myth to tell the truth, when myths have both multiple truths and no truths at all. Hestia, being a goddess herself, of course knew this when she braided the Lasso at the beginning of time. She had been fair however, not wanting to favor herself or her siblings and peers over the mortals. Instead of forcing the restrained to tell the truth, if they were myth, it burned the bound at whatever they believed or knew in their heart to be a lie and would not stop burning until they corrected themselves to what they most deeply believed the truth to be. 

“I always enjoy war,” Ares shouted, voice booming against the deserted landscape. “I am war! I love my duty!”

No sooner had the words escaped his mouth than the god started screaming as if he were burning in Hestia herself’s sacred fires. He wriggled like a dying fish to escape the rope, but anytime it moved it’s position on his skin it only served to burn him more and in a new spot. The rope left pink and red marks over his skin, standing vibrant against it. Diana was hardly moved to pity. She wondered idly to herself if she should tie the ends of the ropes around his member, now that it was free from his glamors. Perhaps it would speed up Ares’s confession and his looking inside himself for the truth he truly believed. Then again, Ares was the god of physicality and violence. Perhaps he would enjoy it instead. 

“The burning will stop if you correct yourself,” She said mildly and rubbed at a spot on his back where the Lasso had touched. He may be her enemy, but that did not mean she could not afford him her kindness. Kindness was what turned an enemy into a friend and a despised brother into a dear one. Ares continued to struggle, both against the pain of the burns and the gentleness of her touch.

He went still and dropped his face into the sand. “It’s just no fun anymore,” he mumbled into the ground, grains getting into his mouth. He sounded like a petulant child and pouted like one as well. His intimidation was stripped with his glamor and he had evidently never learned how to control himself without it. Foolish, Diana thought to herself. The burn marks began to fade at his confession. “It hasn’t been fun since they built all those horrible, dishonorable machines!” He whined, face still in the ground as if he could not face Diana. “It was bad enough when they invented those silly guns.” He sounded as though someone had taken away his favorite toy and sent him to the corner. “It’s no fun unless they get the blood on themselves!”

He moved his head to look at Diana and smiled, red eyes dancing. “I could always get it into your precious little civilians’ heads to start killing each other in the streets, in their shops and schools. That would be fun, wouldn’t it sister granddaughter? Imagine the carnage…” He sighed dreamily and seemed perfectly at ease as he imagined it, despite being tied up and baking in the sun. “Perhaps that’s all, war has gotten too large. Not enough brother killing brother these days.”

Diana stared down at him with contempt, fury growing in her breast. She had been prepared to give Ares the milk and honey, to listen to him and to help him. In her experience all people really needed, gods included, was help. Unfortunately, some people needed the turpentine first. While she so loathed to have to be cruel, she was not so naive as to think she sometimes did not need to do so. He had threatened people, her people. He had threatened innocent people with the bloodshed that was best left in the barbarism of antiquity. She placed her boot on his broad back and leaned her full weight into him. God of War as he may be, she had already bested him and without his instruments of helm and axe he would be hard-pressed to be able to shift her weight, pressed into the ground as he was. 

The Lasso was obliging to Diana’s skillful fingers as she untied the knots connecting ankles to wrists. It kept itself from tangling and obeyed it’s mistress’s ministrations. She made sure to press the heel of her boot harder against Ares’s spine when he tried to buck and struggle for his freedom, looking to rekindle their combat. She wound the rope of the lasso, still glowing, around her hand. She could see where the fiber continued to burn Ares, but it felt nothing more than a mild tingling to her. She let his ankles free but between her weight on top of him and his already weakened state he could hardly do more than kick up dust and squirm as if he were some great, pale worm. Diana left his arms tied as they were, with his wrist touching the opposite elbow. 

“Releasing me, then, you soft hearted clay doll? Or have I upset you, princess? Shall you allow me my dignity to stand as you attempt to slay me, is that it? You are an imprudent girl at the core, like your mother and her sisters, without the true desire for a taste of victory in your mouth, caring too much how it comes served.” Ares’s jeers were muffled into the ground despite their volume and venom. He was foolish to think that the undoing of certain knots meant his release. He was more foolish to think his words had any effect. He had always lacked a way with words once on his knees. 

Diana steadily ignored his babble as she shifted the fallen god onto his side under her foot. She was almost ashamed how pleased she was to notice the mark her boot print left on his back. She wrapped the Golden Perfect fully around his lean waist once, having to shove her hand under the side not facing the sun. He was not as slender as his luminescent half-brother, but he was smaller and more youthful in build than many of the more modern depictions rendered him, without his glamor to project what he wanted to be seen. His skin was sweaty from the heat and his humiliation. Diana put no more emotional investment into her work than that of a skilled seawoman making knots she had done a thousand times over, even when she gripped his godhood in her hands, pulling it slightly away from his body. It’s size had not changed with the fashions of the time and fit in her hand easily. She coiled the Lasso around his testicles a few times over before pulling the end tight, causing an almost kittenish whimper to sound from Ares’s mouth as the burning spread to his most sensitive parts. Diana knotted the rope around the base of his member and Ares bucked his hips, yowling in pain. She rubbed her thumb over the hollow of his hip as she released her grip. 

Ever compliant, the Lasso lengthened itself in Diana’s hands as she pulled it down to Ares’s kicking legs. “None of that, brother,” Diana said gently, though the anger she felt from his earlier threat to mankind had merely reached it’s rolling point, not cooled. “The burning will be worse for you if you struggle.” If Ares decided to throw away her warning, however, she would do nothing to soothe him. She removed her boot from his side and let him fall forward face first into the sand, grit getting into the mouth still open from whimpering. Diana made quick work of looping the Lasso around his thighs, causing the rope to pull slightly on his godhood. _Perhaps,_ Diana thought as she connected thighs to calves in an almost fetal position, _if Ares had been a woman like Athena he could have foreseen this possibility when he engaged me in battle._

Kneeling beside him, one knee up, she drew her sword from its scabbard at her hip. The broad blade reflected the sun in an almost blinding way as she pressed the flat of one side to his rear, fuller pressing into his skin. The weapon still had blood on it from their previous battle, though not nearly as much as stained Ares’s axe. The Lasso has always been Diana’s preferred weapon over the sword; she did not believe in lethality that could be avoided. With her non-dominant hand, she gripped the rope cinched around Ares’s waist and pulled his hips up from the sand to raise his rear. She lifted her sword before bringing it down again, the steel making a heavy thump against Ares. Already, Diana could see the imprint the fuller and central ridge left on his pale skin. She brought the weapon down again, muscles in her arm feeling the exertion after how strenuous an engagement their fight had been, with no rest between. This time the edge of the blade caught his buttocks for a small cut and Ares hissed in a mixture of pain and gratification. Diana brought the sword down several more times, creating a large, reddening bruise and the occasional nick from the blade. All the while, Ares hissed and writhed away from the blows while arching back into them at the same time with only Diana’s firm grip on the Lasso keeping him from landing heavily against the sand. 

Ares was the god of war, violence, and the overwhelming spirit of battle. He did not care who was on the receiving end of his gifts, even if it was he himself. He spat as he hissed in pain and grinned, reveling at how Diana brutalized him in her anger. Diana caught sight of his glee and the hardening of his member with each cut to his buttocks, each drop of his blood hitting the sand below him. She berated herself for falling for his tricks and to be baited into a violent aspect of personhood he was lord over. The turpentine was not what he needed after all, she realized, it was just what he wanted. The milk and honey was what he considered punishment, in the end; that was why Aphrodite’s name could break him in ways no melee or clash could. She gave Ares two more strikes with her sword, more deliberately and careful not to catch the edge of the blade. She rested the hot steel against his skin for a moment more before, in one fluid movement she tucked the blade back into its scabbard with nothing visible but the hilt. She released her grip on the Lasso, tucking one knee under his middle.

“There,” she assured him, rubbing his back and bottom as gently as a shepherdess would her lambs. She spoke softly and soothingly, her voice feather-light. “That is the end and you have survived it.” Diana wiped away the remaining drops of blood, red as Ares’s eyes, with her thumb being careful not to press with too much force against the cuts and give even an indication of the violence that Ares so readily craved. The god rubbed his swollen and tied member against her thigh and she let him, secure in her knowledge that any orgasm he sought without a touch of pain would be ruinous, either to itself or to him.

“You really are soft-hearted,” Ares tried to goad. It was difficult to find even a pale shadow of intimidation when it was accompanied with a little pant as he rutted against her thigh like a domesticated beast. “This was all you could bear to do?”

“No,” Diana corrected firmly, hand still petting Ares’s rump which was high to the air and starting to bruise as blue black as the armor of his glamor. “This is all I care to give you.” She knew he could hear the distinction in her words, especially when he tried to kick his bound legs in protest. She did not allow him any space for insults and asked him “When, Ares, is the last time you were fulfilled?”

Diana was not sure if it was just the pleasure he chased by rubbing harder at her thigh that made him unable to answer. She allowed him, moving her hand up his spine and back down in as steady a pace as the spinning of the rotations of the earth around the sun. She lifted her other hand to the base of his black curls and rested it there. The god continued chasing his release. Diana tapped the base of his spine with two of her fingers. “Ares,” she said more firmly, asking again. “When was the last time you were fulfilled?”

“Always,” he grunted, liquid smearing now across Diana’s thigh. “There is always war and I am always satisfied!” As soon as he finished his words he screamed in agony, voice echoing across the desert. The Lasso glowed like molten gold against him for his lie, so much so Diana could almost smell cooking flesh. His godhood, wrapped securely in the Lasso burned, and he bucked to get away from the pain to his most sensitive parts, only causing him to pull on the rope. Diana saw a tear of pain streak down his marble face. Pain made for the gods by gods was the worst kind, Hestia had known when she created this one of the Lasso’s tricks. Even Ares could not find it enjoyable. It was enough pain, however, that he released all over Diana’s thigh with a lack of any pleasure at all.

“Aphrodite!” Ares yelled, voice becoming hoarse from his screams. Even the war god of violence could not take the pain, not on his most godly organs. He called her name like he was one of her worshipers from the old times and she would give him salvation. “When last I laid with Aphrodite!” The Lasso stopped glowing, looking to all the world just a normal, golden rope despite the tremendous pain it had just caused. This was Ares’s truth, in his heart of hearts, and it could find nothing to fault him for. Diana shifted Ares from over her knee to being held in her arms, subtly wiping his own spent seed on him. 

She mopped the sweat from his brow and let out a soft hum, cradling him to her chest. “I see, brother,” she said, reaching under the rope at his waist to run her fingers along the new burn marks that were struggling to heal themselves. For gods, for the Olympians, all wounds were temporary. Ares tried to get out of her hold, but she suspected only to be free of her prodding fingers. He was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling like the tide. His tears were almost dried. “And what do you want?”

“Nectar, sister,” Ares gasped out without realizing, leaning against Diana’s chest when she pulled her fingers away from his skin. While answering in a more immediate way than Diana had meant to ask for, it was still an honest answer as the Lasso sat against his skin without burning. “Please. I am so thirsty.” He looked parched, it was true, from the sweat of pain and the toll of his confession. He bit his lower lip and it almost cracked. “Please, sister.”

“I have no nectar for you, brother,” Diana shook her head, truly regretful. It was rare that any god, let alone Ares, pleaded. She wished she could reward him for the action. “There is another golden liquid I could give you, but that is all I have.”

He looked pleadingly, eyes desperate. Moved to pity while still acting on her own desire, Diana shifted Ares so he was kneeling, thighs and calves tied in a way so that it made it so he was sitting on his heels. Even leaning his head back he was only just lower than her vulva when she moved her armor aside. Diana gripped his curls firmly to keep his head shifted back, but it was gentle as well and she did not so much as tug at his hair. Ares’ throat arched beautifully and he opened his mouth, sticking out a classically sculpted tongue. Diana closed her eyes to the desert sun and Ares’s begging looks, letting out a small breath along with a golden stream.

Ares strained against Diana’s grip on him to arch into the stream, his own eyes closed as well. He caught the majority on his tongue, shivering at so bitter a taste compared the nectar he was used to drinking on Olympus. He swallowed the stream like it was even better a treat, apple of his throat bobbing as he struggled to get everything into his stomach. Urine splashed down his chin and onto his chest, sparkling like amber and citrine whenever Ares had to close his mouth to swallow the mouthful already there. Diana looked down at him with lidded eyes and gently tapped his temple; he opened his eyes to meet her gaze, sticking his tongue further out of his mouth to catch more of the gift she gave him. The stream petered off and Ares sat a few moments with his tongue still out and expecting more. He started to lean forward to lick the remaining drops from Diana’s thighs and her loins, but she pushed him back, heel of her hand against his forehead. 

“Thank you sister,” Ares’s mouth was still wet and his lips shone as he bent to kiss her boot. “Thank you.” He kissed a line up her boot and to the inside of her knee, pressing his lips with a pressure that betrayed his true nature. He pressed his mouth to the side of her other knee and stared up at her, half longing and half respectful. Still, fire sat behind his red eyes.

“I will return you to your lover, Ares, and you will allow her to bind you in chains of elation. You will have your happiness and your rest, even if it goes against your nature.” Diana knelt next to him and untied the rope binding his legs so she could have him stumble behind her when she went to present him on Olympus to Aphrodite. “The world of Man has plenty of war and bloodshed- war and bloodshed you no longer find interesting or enjoyable- without you taking part and sowing seeds of further disruption and chaos.”

Ares nodded and blinked his red eyes at her, catlike, before leaning forward to try to nip at the hands than had so patiently corrected him but it was clear there was no malice in it, only the residual bloodlust. He smiled at her. “I concede to your terms, then Amazon. For now at least.”

With gods, this is the best you could ask for, Diana knew. “Let us go to your inamorata.”


End file.
